_Clytaem._ What ho! Sleep on! What need of sleepers now? And I am put by you to foul disgrace Among the other dead, nor fails reproach Among the shades that I a murderess am; And so in shame I wander, and I tell you That at their hands I bear worst forms of blame. And much as I have borne from nearest kin, {100} Yet not one god is stirred to wrath for me, Though done to death by matricidal hands. See ye these heart-wounds, whence and how they came? Yea, when it sleeps, the mind is bright with eyes; But in the day it is man's lot to lack All true discernment. Many a gift of mine Have ye lapped up, libations pure from wine, And soothing rites that shut out drunken mirth; And I dread banquets of the night would offer On altar-hearth, at hour no god might share. And lo! all this is trampled under foot. He is escaped, and flees, like fawn, away, And even from the midst of all your toils Has nimbly slipped, and draws wide mouth at you. Hear ye; for I have spoken for my life; Give heed, ye dark, earth-dwelling goddesses, I, Clytaemnestra's phantom, call on you. [_The Erinnyes moan in their sleep._] Moan on, the man is gone, and flees far off; My kindred find protectors; I find none. [_Moan as before._] Too sleep-oppressed art thou, nor pitiest me: Orestes, murderer of his mother, 'scapes. [_Noises repeated._] Dost snort? Dost drowse? Wilt thou not rise and speed? What have ye ever done but work out ill? [_Noises as before._] Yea, sleep and toil, supreme conspirators, Have withered up the dreaded dragon's strength. _Chorus of Furies, starting up suddenly with a yell._ Seize him, {125} Seize, seize, yea, seize: look well to it. _Clytaem._ Thou, phantom-like, dost hunt thy prey and criest, Like hound that never rests from care of toil. What dost thou? (_To one Erinnys._) Rise and let not toil o'ercome thee, Nor, lulled to sleep, lose all thy sense of loss. Let thy soul (to another) feel the pain of just reproach: The wise of heart find that their goad and spur. And thou (to a third) breathe on him with thy blood-flecked breath, And with thy vapour, thy maw's fire, consume him; Chase him, and wither with a fresh pursuit.